The Fifth Friend
by Inula helenium
Summary: Harry beat Voldemort, and the Wizarding World is celebrating. However, Harry discovers that he can't just go back to normal, and turns to drink. He stumbles onto a porch one night, and meets the Potters. He fights the 1st wizarding war with the Marauders.
1. Prologue

**Summary:** Harry's finally beaten Voldemort, and the Wizarding World is celebrating. Harry, however, is realizing that going back to normal is not as easy as he thinks. He can't get over the many deaths the war has caused, and he feels guilty for not having prevented them. He tries to pretend while he's around his friends, but at night, he goes out to drink. However, one day, after having a good too many drinks, he stumbles onto somebody's front porch, and Harry meets the Potters. Harry and the Marauders become comrades in the first wizarding war.

Disclaimer: Everything that you recognize is J. K. Rowling's. I'm just playing in her world.

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><p>The young customer lifted up his mug again. He took a sip of the foamy beer and stopped. He looked at the barkeep.<p>

"Bring me something stronger, would you?" he asked quietly.

The Barkeep looked at him. He saw a young man with messy dark hair, a thin face, and bright green eyes with heavy bags under him. When he had first come to the pub and ordered a beer, the barkeep had asked looked askance at him. He seemed young to be drinking alone. However, he had paid his money, so there was nothing to do but serve him his order. The young man drank silently and left without speaking another word. A few days later, he came again. Now, he was a regular, coming several times a week. He would sit alone, drinking all evening, and leave as he came.

Now though, the Barkeep looked at the man with concern. He was not sure why he cared. Normally, when young adults came to the bar to get wasted, he would silently scoff at them behind his impassive expression, scornful of the irresponsible idiots there to have fun and get drunk or to drown their petty problems.

However, there was something in the young man's eyes that went beyond girl trouble, or some school problem. It was not a self-pitying expression, nor did he have the look of somebody breaking down over stress and sleep loss. It was a deep seated pain, a sort of scarred disillusionment that the Barkeep had only ever seen in old war veterans. Those bright green eyes were dull, gazing into the distance, viewing some scene that only he could see. Today, he seemed especially dejected.

"Is there anything that I can help you with, sir?" the Barkeep asked.

The young man looked around blankly, and slowly focused his eyes on the barkeep. He asked, harshly,

"Can you bring back the dead?" and went back to staring at his cup. He didn't speak a word all the rest of the evening.

He came back a few days later. This time, he broke his normal pattern, and when the Barkeep had served him his whiskey—he had started drinking stronger liquor, he abruptly spoke;

"It's over, but I can't seem to get that through my head. Every time I close my eyes, I see them dying. They died to buy me time." His voice was quiet, but strained, and he shook his head angrily.

"If I had figured it out sooner, maybe they wouldn't have died. Everybody I get involved with seems to get hurt, sooner or later. My friends tell me that it wasn't my fault; that I have to put it behind me. And everybody else sees me as a hero—but I'm not a hero, I just did what I had to. And so many people didn't even make it through. I can't get over it; I can't live with how people look at me. I don't deserve it."

The Barkeep looked at him, surprised. He wondered what the story behind the young man was, but he didn't pry. His role was to be a listener, a silent receptacle of the joys and sorrows of man. If they wanted to talk, he would listen, but he did not urge them.

Finally the man sighed, and looked at his now empty glass.

"Better get back so I can sleep and face another day," he mumbled, his voice weary.

The Barkeep watched him go, swinging a cloak (a cloak?) around his shoulders as he stepped out into the night and vanished.

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><p>That was the Prologue! Please read and review if you like it!<p> 


	2. Familiar Faces

**Hi I'm back! This is the first chapter, and it will be a bit longer than the Prologue. It's from Harry's point of view, but I will consider writing from a few other points of view as well. Please tell me your thoughts on this when you review. Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: Everything that you recognize is J. K. Rowling's. I'm just playing in her world.**

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><p>Harry staggered. He had drunk more than he usually did; the day had been difficult. Mrs. Weasley had insisted that he come over for dinner, and Harry had been unable to refuse, especially since he had declined so many previous invitations. The dinner had been fine, if a little quiet; Mrs. Weasley's food was as excellent as ever. However, after dinner, Ron and Hermione had cornered him. He had taken to avoiding them recently; he knew Hermione had been wanting to talk to him, and she had been eyeing him worriedly during dinner. Harry was afraid that she would want him to talk about his feelings, or was about to badger him about the way he had been acting lately.<p>

He had been correct. Once the three had sat down on Ron's bed, Hermione had started in right away.

"Harry," she said seriously, "Ron and I have been worried about you."

Harry shifted, "I'm fine, honestly," he protested. Of course, he wasn't, but that wasn't going to change, so there was no need to make such a big fuss about it.

"You don't look fine, Harry," said Hermione. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

In fact, Harry had. Just this morning, he had looked into the mirror after washing his face, and had received a shock. He'd lost weight, and his hair had lost its shine. The pallor of his face had only served to accentuate the darkness of the bags under his eyes. And his eyes…Harry had not been in the habit of noticing his eyes before, but they looked depressed and tired, the eyes of a stranger. Harry had been many things before, but defeated had not been one of them.

Harry had not been sleeping well lately. He had been having nightmares, and it seemed that he had built up a resistance to Dreamless Sleep Potion, because it hadn't worked for him for a while. In his dreams, he saw people dying, and he was powerless to save them. He saw them die…Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna…in some dreams, he had been captured by Voldemort, and been tortured with the Cruciatus. Harry had been unable to stop Voldemort when he had finally lifted his wand for the Avada Kedavra. It was at this point that Harry woke up, breathless and shaking, a cold sweat breaking out over his forehead. By far the worst, however, were the dreams that were true memories of the war. Over and over again, he'd been surrounded by Dementors, heard Hermione scream as Bellatrix tortured her, heard Dobby's last words, seen Snape looking at him as he died…

Hermione continued, breaking into his thoughts,

"It isn't healthy for you to continue this way!"

Harry sighed. Wearily, he waited for Hermione to continue. He knew she wouldn't give him a rest until she had said what was on her mind. Hermione waited for Harry to respond, then plunged right in when no response was forthcoming.

"I think you should find a job."

Harry looked up, startled.

"You can't go on moping forever, Harry, and I think that getting a job would give some purpose to your life. I know that you can't just forget the war, but maybe having a job would distract you."

Harry laughed bitterly, "I don't think that anything can make me forget the war, Hermione."

"That's a defeatist attitude!" she shot back, frustrated. "Harry, unless you want to get better, nothing's ever going to happen! You can't let the war affect the rest of your life!"

"So that's what you think? You think I _want _to feel guilty, and want to let the war affect me? I _want _to be kept up at night by the screams of the people Voldemort's killed? I can't forget! I tried!" Harry shouted, infuriated. He felt like lashing out at anything that he could reach. His heart was pounding and he was breathing heavily. He felt more than he'd felt in months. "The war's just one of those things that you _can't _forget! I've been affected permanently. There's no use trying to change something that I can't change!"

"But Harry," Hermione said timidly—she looked a bit guilty for pushing so far, "Isn't there something you want to do? Didn't you want to be an Auror after the war? Can't you apply now?"

Harry almost laughed. The brief spurt of anger was completely gone; all he felt now was fatigue. Didn't Hermione understand? Harry had done his duty; he had defeated Voldemort. But now, Harry was broken. He was too damaged by the war to live a normal life. He was crippled by regret, regret for the people he hadn't saved, the people he had put into danger and gotten killed. But even if he could have mustered up enough energy, becoming an Auror now after fighting Voldemort seemed like a joke.

All Harry wanted to do was to hide from the world and forget. The attention that Harry had been getting after he had defeated Voldemort was intolerable, even worse than when Harry had first entered the Wizarding World, and receiving their thanks and adulation just caused him to feel worse.

Ron spoke for the first time,

"Harry, I know you don't agree, but I reckon Hermione's right. I mean, it wouldn't hurt to just give it a try, would it?"

"It won't help, okay?" Harry said tiredly. "Just give it a rest, alright?"

Harry had gotten up, bidden Mrs. Weasley a hurried farewell, and left the Burrow. He soon found himself in The Duke Without a Head, the pub he had taken to frequenting. He ordered his usual whiskey, and remembered when he had first come here.

….

He had been dreading today. It was the day of Lupin and Tonks's funerals.

All who remained of the Order were there, but it only made the absence of those who had fallen more conspicuous. Dumbledore, Fred, Mad-eye…even Snape. The Weasleys were all there, somber-faced. Hermione leaned against Ron, who had his arm around her shoulders. Tears were streaming down her face. Harry stood next to them, feeling isolated. Ron and Hermione both tried their best to include him, but there was an intimacy between them that Harry could not share. He could see it in the way Hermione fit in the curve of Ron's arms, in the way that Ron and Hermione seemed to forget everything around them when they looked into each other's eyes. _That's the way it should be, _Harry thought fiercely to himself, but he still felt left out. Ginny searched his face out, but he avoided her eyes. He was not whole—he had too much baggage from the war, and felt inadequate.

The first few weeks after Harry defeated Voldemort, he had felt free, unburdened from his duty at last. He and Ginny had gotten back together, and comforted each, rejoicing that they had won the war. However, as everybody else had slowly recovered and started rebuilding their lives, Harry had sunk into a depression. Ginny faithfully stuck by him, but Harry knew he was a burden on her. Ginny deserved better than to be tied to him, damaged as he was.

Harry looked at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He couldn't but feel a great sense of guilt whenever he saw them. Being close to their family had put them all in danger. Mr. Weasley had nearly been killed, George had lost his ear, and Fred had been killed. It had been a terrible way to repay all their kindness to him. It almost made it worse that they didn't blame him. Harry remembered Mrs. Weasley's boggart—her greatest fear had been that her whole family wouldn't get through the war. And then, Fred had died.

A flash of lime green caught Harry's eye. He glanced over to see Andromeda Tonks holding his baby godson, Teddy Lupin. It had been decided that Andromeda would raise Teddy—she was his grandmother after all, and Harry was still too young. _Not that I'd be much use to him, _Harry thought darkly. What could he offer Teddy? What kind of role-model was he? An example of how war could destroy a person? No, Teddy was better off with his grandmother, who could get past the loss of her daughter, and care for her grandson as he should be cared for. Lupin had entrusted his son to him, like James had entrusted Harry to Sirius. Sirius had died for Harry. Harry was a pathetic excuse for a godfather.

After the burial was over, Harry left quickly, avoiding all those who might try to talk with him. He didn't feel like talking to anybody. It was that night that he'd begun to drink.

….

Harry stumbled along. He still had enough judgement to know that it would not be a good idea to apparate while drunk; he would probably end up splinching himself. He had drunk more than usual; however, he still hadn't drowned his emotions. Harry abruptly wondered what his parents would think if they saw him now. Would they be angry? Ashamed? Would they understand what he was going through?

Harry was struck with an idea. He would visit his parents' graves at Godric's Hollow. The problem was how he would get there. He had spent all his muggle money, so taking a taxi was out, and he definitely didn't want to take the Knight Bus with Stan and Ernie staring at his scar the whole time. Besides, the rough jerking motion of the bus always made him sick. However, the idea of visiting his parents' graves had taken a strong hold of him. Harry decided to risk apparating. He had apparated before when he had been slightly inebriated; it was probably alright now too.

Harry took a deep breath and turned. He felt the air turning solid, and the breath was squeezed out of him. Suddenly, there was an intense sensation of pain. He had arrived, and he was bleeding. There was burning, raw spot in his right arm. He must have splinched himself after all. Harry put his hand over the wound, but it was too large; he couldn't stop all the blood. Blood gushed through his fingers and out under his palm. Harry could feel himself growing faint. He realized that he was losing a lot of blood, and if he lost much longer, he would die.

Harry didn't care much for life, but he wasn't ready to give up quite yet, at least not at this point. He looked around to see if there was anybody who could help him. But who would be out at this time of night? Vaguely, Harry noticed that he had apparated onto somebody's front porch. It was his only chance. With effort, he stood up, and rang the doorbell. He listened for footsteps, and he heard them, heading toward the door. If only they would get there on time! Harry swayed, and then, he saw the doorknob turn. Yellow light streamed out of the house as the door opened, and Harry, who had lost a lot of blood by now, collapsed. He dimly heard voices say,

"Who are you?" this was a man's voice, strangely familiar.

"Look, he's hurt!" a woman's.

"It doesn't matter who he is," said another man, "He's too hurt to do us any harm anyway. If we don't do something soon, he's going to die."

"Hurry," said the woman, urgently.

Harry was pulled into the house, but he didn't notice. The last thought that he had before he succumbed to unconsciousness was the glimpse he had had of the people standing in the doorway. They had looked strangely familiar, a woman with red hair and green eyes, and another, with messy black hair and glasses. There was something about them, Harry was sure he had seen them before…but Harry didn't remember, and soon surrendered to the blackness.

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><p><strong>And that's the 1st Chapter! Don't worry, now that I've gotten down the angst, stuff can start to happen. Harry will finally meet his parents! I want to explore how they will react to each other, taking into account their various personalities as JKR has written them. Please review!<strong>

**~Inula helenium**


	3. Peverell?

**Hi! I'm back again. Thank you for your reviews! When I started writing, I didn't expect them to make such a difference, but they really encourage me to keep going! Harry finally meets his parents.**

**Disclaimer: Fanfiction is joyful play with words. The world I'm playing in is J. K. Rowling's.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Harry felt something wet against his forehead. Squinting against the light, he could make out the figure of a woman. She was sponging his face. Harry knew that there was something important that he should remember. What was it?

Suddenly, he remembered. He hadn't been able to tell very well last night, lightheaded from blood loss, but he had known the people.

Harry struggled to open his eyes. He blinked several times, and the face of the woman came into view. What he saw made him start, and he tried to sit up. His head swam, but he managed to pull himself upright.

She was the exact image of Lily as he had seen her in the pictures of his parents. She had the same shade of dark red hair. Her nose and her cheekbones were the same. But it was the eyes that held Harry. They were, as many of his parents' friends had told him, the precise shape and color of his own.

"Who are you?" Harry asked hoarsely, looking into her face.

Lily, as Harry thought of her—could she be anybody else?—gasped.

"James, come here!" she cried.

The tall man with messy hair that Harry had seen earlier ran over.

"What is it? Lily, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, "But look at him! He…"

"What about him?" asked the man—was he James?

Looking closer, he sucked in a small breath of surprise.

"He has my eyes," said Lily.

Without warning, James pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Harry.

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

"James, he might be a muggle!" exclaimed Lily.

"No," he replied grimly, "I found his wand on the porch after he passed out. Though for a second there, I thought he could have been a cousin of yours."

Lily broke in,

"He looks like you, James. He could be related to you."

Harry was not sure what he should say. He was in shock, and was not sure how, but it seemed that he'd been transported back to when his parents were still alive. He couldn't tell them the truth. It was too late to disguise himself, but should he give himself a false name?

James continued,

"We don't know why he's here or what he's planning. He could be a Death eater in disguise! How likely is it that somebody looking like him, would turn up bloody on our doorstep?" he turned to Harry once again,

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Give him a rest; he's still dizzy from blood loss!" Apparently, Lily was championing their mysterious visitor. Harry could only be glad for his mother's soft-hearted nature, which had led her to even befriend Snape in the face of opposition.

Just then, the pounding of Harry's head became unbearable. Did time-travel give you an early hangover? He couldn't think of a fake name, much less a cover story. Harry groaned, and unthinkingly asked if they had any aspirin.

James looked slightly confused, but Lily's eyebrows shot up, and she looked at James.

"He's a muggleborn. Aspirin's a muggle headache reliever."

James's hold on his wand relaxed slightly.

"I guess he's not likely to be a death eater then. We'll keep your wand for the time being though. For safety's sake, you understand?" Now, he addressed Harry.

Harry nodded.

"James, go get me some of that Headache Relieving Draught that we have in the potions cabinet."

James soon returned with a dark green potion, which Harry swallowed. Immediately, his head felt a hundred times better.

"Thanks, that was the worst hangover I ever had." Harry said in relief.

James looked amused. Lily, on the other hand, looked rather disgusted.

"You mean to say…" she began,

"That I splinched myself because I apparated while drunk? Yeah, it was one of my worse decisions." Harry said in embarrassment, casting his eyes downward. What would his mother think of him?

James laughed out loud. Lily sighed.

"I should have realized," she said, "you smell like a brewery."

"I think you were more pre-occupied with the blood." said James.

"Anyway, my name is Harry, Harry…Peverell." said Harry. It was true enough, he supposed.

"I'm not actually a muggleborn, but I'm muggle-raised; my parents were both killed when I was still a baby. I'll let you know now though, that I _am_ against Voldemort, and anybody that sides with him."

Harry suddenly realized the ramifications of his statement. Did this mean that he would have to fight Voldemort all over again? Could he change the timeline? Would it be the right thing to do? He would have to think carefully.

James was looking at him with new respect.

"You used Voldemort's name." he said, "Not many people do that."

Harry replied,

"A wise man once told me, 'Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself'". He smiled a little inside to himself. He wondered whether Dumbledore had said that to his parents as well.

Lily abruptly said, "I think we should trust him." James looked at her, and she continued, "I just have this strong feeling that we can trust him. Anyway, it's possible that he might be a Voldemort supporter, but he can't be a Death eater. He doesn't have the Dark Mark. Polyjuice would have worn off by now, and I cast the usual glamour-detecting charms."

James said slowly, "If you're sure…"

"I'm positive," she responded.

Harry was overwhelmed. He hadn't done anything for them, and his parents, especially his mother, had trusted him on sight. He felt his eyes burning.

"Thanks for trusting me," he said huskily, "I'll do everything I can to prove that you're right. I can't repay my debt to you. First, you saved my life, and now, you're trusting me with only my word to back me up." Harry reflected that this wasn't the first time that they had saved his life. This thought was too painful, however, and he shoved it to the back of his mind.

"Don't worry about it," said James. "You've got to trust some people—even if there is a war going on, we can't just hide like scared rabbits, and suspect everyone we see. And I've got a good feeling about you."

Just then, the doorbell rang, and James got up to answer it, holding his wand ready. But when he saw who was at the door, he flung it aside, and slapped the newcomer on the back, delightedly exclaiming,

"Padfoot!"

For a moment, Harry's mind froze. It was one thing to meet your long-dead parents whom you had known only in stories and photos. It was another to see your godfather, who had died a bit over two years ago. Harry had mourned Sirius, knowing that he would never see him again. But here is was in the flesh, alive, as if he had never gone through the veil in the Department of Mysteries.

Lily turned to the door with a warm smile,

"It's nice to see you Sirius."

"Feel free to come by anytime." This was James.

"I'll take you up on it!"

By now, he had noticed the figure on the couch.

"Prongs, who's this? You never told me that you had an illegitimate brother!" he said humorously.

James grinned as Lily rolled her eyes.

"Nope, no relation. But you should take a look at his eyes! They're the spit of Lily's here."

Sirius looked closer.

"Sweet Merlin," he exclaimed, "You're right!"

James broke in, "But I'm forgetting my manners. This, Padfoot, is Harry Peverell. Harry, this is Sirius Black, the white sheep of the black family, and as hot-blooded as they come!"

"Peverell?" When he heard the name, Sirius frowned. Harry suddenly wondered if that name choice might have been a bad idea. "Weren't the Peverells a pure-blooded family that died out a few centuries ago?"

"You're right." James replied, "I think I've seen it in a genealogy somewhere."

"Of course, my genealogical education was much more thorough than yours," Sirius said with a look of distaste on his face. "My parents were all for upholding the pride of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black."

He fixed Harry with an unfriendly look.

"You're not one of those scum upholding pureblood superiority are you?"

Lily protested immediately,

"He'd hardly be in our house if he was!"

"Don't worry, he's on our side. He even says Voldemort's name!" James reassured his friend.

Sirius turned to Harry.

"I guess you must be alright then!" he said, and with a swift change of attitude, gave Harry a brilliant smile. It was the smile of the man that had laughed at the Potter's wedding. This Sirius had never gone to Azkaban, never endured the Dementors.

Harry unsteadily smiled back.

"Nice to meet you," he said after a barely noticeable hesitation.

Sirius was invited to dinner, and Lily insisted that Harry join them. The dinner was lively, James telling Sirius of their discovery of Harry on their doorstep, and the circumstances behind it. This led Harry to be heartily teased by both James and Sirius. James also told Sirius about Lily's defense of Harry, commenting mischievously,

"You'd better not get too attached to Harry, Lovely Lily, for all he shares my stunning good looks!"

Lily rolled her eyes and kissed him on the cheek.

Later, it was decided that Harry could stay the night—"There might be some complications with the alcohol and the blood-replenishing potion"—and leave in the morning if he was recovered.

…..

The next morning, Harry was woken by light streaming in through his window. _That's strange,_ he thought, _I was sure that I'd finally installed those blackout blinds._ Strangely though, he didn't have a headache, which didn't make sense considering all he had to drink the night before. _Last night! _Then, Harry finally realized where he was. He wasn't sure whether to shout for joy or to groan.

Silently, he crept downstairs. He saw Lily and James eating breakfast in the kitchen. They were talking, and he couldn't but help overhearing what they were saying.

"I believe that he's against Voldemort, but you have to agree, he's got a murky background." This was James.

"I'm sure he'll tell us if we just ask him. Anyway, if he's on our side, what does it matter?"

"It's just that I'm certain that there's a mystery about him, and I want to know what it is!"

"Don't let your curiosity get the better of you! He'll tell us if he wants to, and I won't have you pestering him!"

"You've really taken a shine to him, haven't you? This was said almost jealously.

Lily laughed and said,

"You know that you're the only man for me! It's just that I feel that Harry is going to be a very good friend of ours, and if that's true, there's no time to waste!"

Harry thought that he had been listening long enough, and deliberately put his foot down hard on the next step.

Lily looked up and catching sight of Harry, gave him a big smile.

"Harry, you're up! We didn't want to wake you, but please come down and have breakfast with us!"

"Now that you're recovered, you can tell us more about yourself." James said cheerfully, ignoring a warning glance from Lily.

"There's nothing so interesting about me," said Harry evasively. "Actually, I'm a bit hazy about what's been happening lately, do you think could catch me up on the news?"

Harry listened as they described the situation with Voldemort. It seemed that although he had begun stepping up his game, the situation hadn't become nearly as serious as when the Potters had gone into hiding with the Fidelus Charm. This made sense. His knowledge about aspirin notwithstanding, the Potters would have been far more wary of a stranger if things had been that dangerous.

Although Harry would have loved to stay much longer talking to his parents, he realized that they only saw him as a friendly stranger who they had rescued, and it would be rude to overstay his welcome.

After drinking the last sip of his tea, he stood up.

"Thank you James, Lily for rescuing me last night. I owe you my life. I would have died without your help," he started out uncomfortably. "It was really great meeting you. I guess I should get going now." Harry swallowed, a lump in his throat. Could this possibly be their last meeting? Harry felt desperate to see them again. He tried to think of something.

"There was nothing else we could have done." James answered him seriously.

"We're glad that we could do something to help," added Lily.

"We'd love to see you again," she continued, "please visit us again."

"Just don't apparate sloshed!" James said with a laugh.

"If you really want me to." said Harry, uncertainly.

"Of course we do," replied Lily.

"I will, then." Harry answered. A feeling of overwhelming happiness washed through him. He felt happier than he had in months.

Harry stepped out the door and walked to the street. He looked back. James stood with his arm around Lily's waist and both were waving at him. He waved back, and apparated away.

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><p><strong>That's it for now. If you ever spy any characters acting out of character, let me know, and I'll try to fix it. Please review!<strong>


	4. Arrests

I'm only a guest in J. K. Rowling's world, but I'm having a great time!

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Harry appeared with a crack. He was standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley. He couldn't think of anywhere else to go. He had only ever lived at the Dursleys and Hogwarts, both not options at this time, and he was _sure_ that Walburga Black would not appreciate his turning up at Grimmauld Place.

Harry decided to go and rent a room while he decided what to do next. Fortunately, he had stopped at Gringotts earlier yesterday, yesterday? before all this had occurred.

He ordered a beer—he didn't recognize the bartender, and wondered what Tom was doing—and sat down. Harry thought hard. Now what was he going to do? The money wasn't going to last forever.

The first order was to get a job. Harry didn't know that much about wizarding jobs—he'd been so determined to become an auror that he hadn't really paid attention to all those glossy pamphlets at the end of fifth year. Now, he was in even more trouble. He didn't have OWL results or a school record anymore—he figured that the only job he could easily obtain would be some sort of unskilled manual labor; dishwashing, for instance. _Not that I haven't had enough practice with that,_ he thought sardonically. He slowly sipped his beer, staring at the counter.

All of the sudden, a scream pierced the air. Harry turned around.

Five Deatheaters had apparated in front of the Leaky Cauldron and were making their way in. Harry reacted immediately, yelling, "Expelliarmus!" disarming one Deatheater, and catching his wand. The Deatheaters, surprised by the sudden attack by a civilian, were slow to respond.

"Petrificus totalus!" he shouted, and another Deatheater went down. However, the remaining three Deatheaters were now ready and Harry had to duck as a nasty looking purple light streaked past him. The few people in the bar had fled, except for an old witch in the corner, who was shakily lifting her wand. She was hit by a red flash, and fell over. Harry hoped it wasn't a lethal spell.

As battle-trained as Harry was, he was months out of practice, and, due to his recent lifestyle, not in the best of health. And he was alone. Maybe he could take on two Deatheaters, but three? Harry ducked as another jet of green light sped by him. He wondered if he could get enough of a breathing space to apparate away. He shot another stunning spell, and saw another Deatheater go down, but at that moment, he was hit by a stream of red light, and fell over, immobilized. Harry held a cold pit in his stomach as he heard the footsteps of the Deatheater walking over. Had he really come back in time just to get himself killed fighting Deatheaters again?

He looked defiantly up at the Deatheater's slitted mask, waiting for death, when the Deatheater suddenly raised his head and fell over. He heard the sound of a petrifying spell—it appeared that the last Deatheater had been felled. Harry heard a new set of footsteps walking over.

"Hey there, are you all right?" a voice called out. The boots stopped by Harry's head.

"Yeah," Harry groaned and looked up at his rescuer. It was Lupin. He looked different. He seemed younger and more carefree than he ever had, even in the memory in the Pensieve. There was no grey in his hair, his clothing wasn't patched, and the way he held himself was more confident, almost cocky. He looked, well, if not exactly cool, at least as if he were a person who knew what was going on. He grinned at Harry.

"Remus Lupin." He said, holding out his hand to help Harry up. "It's good to know that not all the wizarding populace is a bunch of sheep. Who are you? You weren't at Hogwarts. Are you foreign?"

"Not, foreign, homeschooled." replied Harry. "Harry Peverell." He said, taking Remus's hand. "Thanks for rescuing me."

"Glad to be of service." Remus replied easily. "What do you say about having lunch and drinks after the Magical Law Enforcement arrives?"

Harry quickly agreed. There was no possibility of not spending as much time as possible with the people he loved until… Harry decided not to think about it.

...

They had lunch in a muggle pub, as the Leaky Cauldron's proprietor had fled, and business seemed to be done for the day. Both were hungry after the excitement, so at first, they ate in a businesslike fashion, without talking. However, after they had appeased their hunger, and ate and sipped slowly, Remus, after some preliminary small talk said,

"It isn't often I meet people openly against Voldemort. Most people just hunker down and hope that the Ministry will defeat him. What makes you oppose him?" his voice was studiously casual. Harry wondered why he would even ask that question. Wasn't it obvious?

He replied, "I'm against anyone who hates muggleborns or non-wizards. And maybe you people can't see it yet, but the Ministry won't win this fight. If nobody stops him, he'll destroy the wizarding world."

By saying this Harry realized that he had already decided what he was going to do. What he had done at the Leaky Cauldron had been instinct. He hadn't thought about whether or not he should attack the Deatheaters. But now Harry knew that even if he had had time to think, his decision would have been the same. It didn't matter where or when he was. He couldn't stand aside and let Voldemort hurt and kill people. He would let the time travel issue work itself out on his own. Harry wondered if the Order of the Phoenix had formed yet.

He looked at Remus to see his reaction. Remus looked surprised.

"Why do you think that the ministry will lose? They haven't done that badly so far."

"They haven't stopped all the disappearances or the killings either. The Deatheaters are getting stronger, and the Ministry doesn't have the backbone to attack them in force now, before they get too strong to defeat. They're terrified of Voldemort. Besides, I bet half the ministry are Deatheaters already—I reckon the purebloods think Voldemort's great."

Remus blinked. Then he nodded as if he had reached a decision. He leaned forward and said in a low voice.

"My friends and I think the same way. We want to form a group that will actually fight Voldemort. Will you join us?"

There was a silence. Harry could hear his heart beating in his ears. He was being asked to join the old Order of the Phoenix with his parents. He would fight Voldemort with the Marauders and his mother. He opened his mouth to say yes, but no words came out. He cleared his throat and spoke.

"Are you kidding?" he said, "Of course I will."

Remus smiled widely. "That's great! It's good to have you. With your dueling skills, you'll be a valuable member of the group." He held out his hand.

"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix." The two men shook hands.

"So now, what happens?" Harry asked.

"I'll have to take you to meet the rest of us." Remus said, "So far, we've only recruited from our close friends, and people we know well. But since I actually saw you fighting Deatheaters, I think you can be trusted. And we need all the people that we can get."

They arranged that Harry should meet the rest of the crew at the Hogshead in Hogsmeade the next day at nine o'clock. Harry thought about all the things that had happened—would happen—there: the DA meeting, escaping the dementors, learning about Dumbledore…actually, now that he knew about Aberforth, he realized that the Hogshead would be a good spot for an Order meeting. _Not as good as the Room of Requirement though,_ he thought to himself. But the Marauders didn't know about it, he remembered.

Meeting his parents and Sirius had robbed Harry of any shock that he might have felt, meeting Remus, but the differences between this Remus and how Harry remembered Lupin were a bit surprising. Still, Harry could see how this Remus had become the Professor Lupin. The earlier meeting with Sirius had been upsetting, but here, Harry felt at ease, as if everything that happened between his third year at Hogwarts and Lupin's death had never happened, or at least, it felt less significant. It felt as if Remus had just returned from a long trip abroad, and he and Harry were catching up.

Harry reflected that he would have to fake his surprise at meeting James and Lily again. They couldn't know how he knew that Remus, James, Sirius and Pettigrew were friends.

…

Harry stared at the door, summoning up the will to go in.

After Lupin and he had parted, Harry'd decided that he'd better get finding a job over with. He'd looked through a Daily Prophet left on somebody's seat for job advertisements. Unfortunately, all of them required references and OWL results. Not having any OWLs, and not knowing what else to do, he'd decided to just go into stores and restaurants, asking if they needed help. However, it appeared that business had been slow for a while, and nobody was looking for new employees.

He'd asked a sympathetic looking waiter if he knew of any openings.

"Well," he replied, "I heard the Sphinx is looking for some help. That's not unusual—they're always having trouble keeping their employees. It's a bit seedy."

_That figures, _thought Harry, and decided to save it as a last resort. But he had been looking for hours, and hadn't found anywhere else—they either didn't have work, or wanted to see his references. So now, he was left standing in front of the Sphinx, which turned out to be in Knockturn alley. If this failed, he supposed he'd have to look for jobs in the Muggle world, and it'd been so long since he had had anything to do with muggles other than the Dursleys, he wasn't sure where to start. He hadn't had to worry about employment in primary school. He opened the door.

The bartender was a young man with dark hair wearing battered robes and a cloak with a hood attached to it. Harry walked up and asked as casually as he could,

"I'm looking for work and heard you needed help. Do you have any job openings?"

"Yeah, we're looking for help cleaning and in the kitchen. You sure you're up for it?" he said, eyeing Harry's disheveled, but admittedly quality, clothes.

"Yeah, I am." Harry replied, "What's the pay?"

The man named a rather low amount, but added that room and board were also included. Harry, figuring that this was probably the best he could get, gladly accepted. Besides, this was just temporary, until he could figure out more about his situation.

"You'll be starting work tomorrow at 6 a. m." the man told him. "I'll show you your room, and we'll discuss your duties tomorrow. By the way, my name's Tarazed."

"Harry Peverell."

After Harry had been shown to his room, he decided that he'd better buy some clothes and other supplies since he had left them all behind. He went downstairs and walked out of the pub.

However, no sooner had he entered the street then a heavyset wizard stepped in front of him and said.

"Come with me, you're under arrest."

Harry was taken aback.

"What?" he asked incredulously, "I haven't done anything."

"You've been brought up with charges of suspicious loitering, smuggling, and destruction of property. Don't argue with me. You can explain everything at the Ministry."

Harry considered trying to escape, but he had just got a job, and he didn't know enough about what was happening—maybe he would find out at the ministry. So when the Ministry Wizard gripped his arm and turned around to apparate, he didn't resist.

…

He almost regretted this several hours later. They had put him in a bare cell with only a chair and a bed, and left him alone without answering any of his questions.

"Who accused me?" Harry had asked, "When is someone going to explain."

"The wizard who's in charge of that department's busy. You can wait here until he's free."

"Nobody's even told me what's going on!" Harry said angrily, "You can't just leave me here!"

"We can and we will", said the wizard who had arrested Harry—Harry was starting to really dislike the man. The way he acted reminded him of Umbridge without the cutseyness.

Harry had been left alone for several hours. At first he had been furious, but after hours of nothing to do but sit, he grew bored, and depressed. He wondered when somebody would come.

Finally, after they had fed him a meager dinner, the wizard came back.

"You're allowed one owl." He told Harry. "Tomorrow morning, the ministry official who's going to question you will come, and after that we'll send you your letter."

Harry was relieved that they weren't going to leave him here forever. However, he wasn't sure who he could send a letter to. He had only met his parents, Sirius, and Lupin, but none of them knew him that well. He decided to think about it after his interrogation the next day, and went to sleep.

* * *

><p>That's it for now! Please review! All suggestions and OOC spottings welcome!<p> 


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